In Case of Rapture
by Electronic Cow
Summary: This is an AU-fic set during the Suikoden 3 timeline.  Tir/Ted focus but others will appear!  Basis: Immortality is not being kind to McDohl, Ted is still inside the Soul Eater somewhere, and Luc needs Tir's help for his plot in Suikoden 3. At what cost?
1. Chapter 1

__**AN: **_So I've taken to writing on my iPhone now. Yes, seriously, in the notes feature, I'm writing fanfiction. Addiction? Possibly. At any rate this is a story I started recently. 'In Case of Rapture' is an AU Suikoden fic which will star Tir McDohl and eventually Ted but is set during the Suikoden 3 timeline. Point of view switching will happen extremely often and other characters will develop as I go. (For instance Chapter 2 – which I've already started – begins with Percival.) As this is AU and will deviate from the games some characters may be slightly different – especially those from Suikoden 1, 2, 4, and 5. Yes; I've played all the games, so any character could appear if they are still around time-line wise. Has been awhile though. So forgive me for a little OOC'ness. So yeah. This forenote went on longer than I expected it to. On to the story! Note that future chapters will all begin with flashbacks of McDohl and Ted. Yeah, just not this one._

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

******CHAPTER 1 **: Submission in Silhouette

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><p>'Ted.'<p>

This was the anthem of his thoughts. It repeated over and over and each time grew more insistent. The few that he had met, those closer to the surface, perked up at the call. Their interest was soon lost. Those whom had once shared that title sometimes held on to the phantom of identity their once-name brought up but it never lasted. These were those who had become mere ghosts of their former selves. They clung to the surface but with only wisps of history they had little hold. Once they fell away there was only emptiness in response to his query.

These were not the Ted he sought and the fragile beings were aware of it. The Ted he knew was not among them. He had never been among them.

One day perhaps he would be but Tir feared that day.

"Young Master."

The voice roused him from meditation. Another missed knock. Another state delved too deep. Gremio already knew this though. The once-servant poised at the door with a hand raised to knock and a tray of food in his opposing hand. Rice again, it was all they had these days since settling for a time in Highland. Not by choice exactly. Constant travel was becoming hard on the still-eager servant. Nearly twenty years of adventure was starting to show by the silver in his scalp and the cane he sometimes used. Deny it as Gremio might; Tir had known it was time to slow down.

Not that you would think this servant knew the meaning of 'slow down'.

"You went too deep again." It was not a question. It was an acknowledgement laced with previously given warnings. Tir could feel Gremio's disappointed stare though the man did not look at him. Not even as he sat the bowl of rice on the bedside stand near the forever-young 'boy'. Not even as he sat himself on the make-shift bed of cotton and ratty sheets. Tir could feel these things as despite his age, now in all rights a man, he would forever concern himself with that gaze. Staples of youth are not easily forgotten.

"This time was different...closer-"

"No Master," Gremio sighed and turned to look at the 'boy'. ", it wasn't. You delve into that abyss again and found nothing. Just like last time, the time before, every time. Perhaps..." He held his tongue. This was an argument of times passed - a touchy subject he dared not tread lest his Master retreat once more. He often did that these days. These were troubled waters but through years of service Gremio had the map. "I merely worry. It is dangerous. The Lady of the Tower informed us of such when you asked her to teach you. If you were to delve too deep into the Soul Eater..."

"It will not devour me - I am the fated bearer." Conviction. Tir met his longest friend's gaze with cold eyes. Perhaps once they would have burned with intensity but those days had also long since passed. Steely dedication had stolen the youth.

Gremio often missed it.

"We can not be sure of that. Not even Lady Leknaat was."

Tir shook his head but knew the truth of those words. Leknaat, Seer of the Stars, had warned him. She had even refused to teach him at first. True Runes were a power beyond the kin of man and not to be toyed with. This truth held especially clear for the Soul Eater; the Rune which governed death. A misstep, a single dive too deep, and it would be over.

Yet, "I just know, Gremio." And truly, he believed he did.

The servant sighed as he resigned from an argument had too many times before. His frustrations remained carefully reigned in. Though he felt it his control would not slip. Not once. Not now. Never. Not with his Master. To be supportive of his mental state had become a great one of many duties since the war.

"Very well. I urge you though; caution."

Tir gave him no response save a nod. Not that the mothering blonde expected one as he rose and moved to the door. He did not look back as it closed. There was no need. He knew Tir had already gone back to meditations of the cursed rune on his palm. Though the body may appear alert the eyes would be empty and the mind departed. One day he feared this empty vessel would be all he had to wake up to.

Gremio still said his routine, "Good night young master." as he closed the door, heard or not.

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x **

Since the fall of L'Renouille and the death of King Jowy, Highland had become little more than city-states itself. A once great empire turned to a rabble of counts fighting over whose claim to the throne held strongest. Rumor had it they would decide a King soon but such rumors were tired and aged. They had run their course alongside those that claimed King Jowy still lived. With such infighting the cities became a nation unto themselves and now thrived on their own isolation.

Even though he understood Tir would never adapt to their watching eyes.

The city in which he decided they would settle was chosen specifically. It was nether too big nor too small, had no standing army, and was high enough in the mountains to avoid passerbys who may recognize him. Once the city of Silhouette had been nothing but a tiny point on the map. Now it was, at least for Gremio, home. The aging servant had taken well to the quiet charm of it, the villagers even accepted him. They would not accept Tir. Too different, too closed off, too young in looks to act as he did. Truly they would never like him. It was okay; he would never feel at home in this place either. How could he? How could you call a place home when everyone in it would slowly die before your very eyes? When the city itself would crumble to dust before you?

Tir never went outside if he could help it. Not that anyone could tell the man stayed inside; he had the sun kissed tan that held on for twenty years without change. He was as he had been the day Ted passed his curse to the McDohl scion. As he would always be unless he passed it on as well.

Something he could hardly even imagine.

As he approached a stand the woman working it glanced up, saw him, and tried to hide her falling smile. "Seyfarth." Simple, not a trace of that venomous suspicion because this woman hid it deep. Considering she knew only the fake name he gave her, the McDohl title being too well known to use, perhaps her distrust was justified. Tir, as he often did, simply nodded a greeting and said nothing. It was enough for her. While he stood there, still as stone, she worked to gather the usual items. If she wanted to ask why it was him and not Gremio picking up the weekly supply, she refrained. Tir offered nothing in return.

No one really wanted to discuss the popular servant's declining health. Sickness was akin to a curse in mountain villages such as Silhouette. The town doctor would have been considered little more than a hopeless crock by the skilled surgeons in bigger cities. These were a people who kept it out of thought and mind. For Tir the matter was even more grave. He would not speak of it because he could not bare to having already lost the servant once. At only forty and some odd years old, Gremio should have still been in fine health. Tir had concerns as to the actual success of Leknaat's partial Gate Rune in restoring his friend's health.

Not that he could ever voice those to Gremio. The servant was always 'fine'.

"This should do you two for the week well enough."

The size of the sack said otherwise; it could last a month if Gremio did not insist on a lifestyle befitting his 'lord's station". Lord McDohl was no more but it seemed only Tir had truly managed to let him rest.

The deceptively young man merely nodded to her again - sometimes he wished they assumed him mute - and shouldered the sack. The material was rough and were it not for his gloves may well have eaten into his palms. He never went without his gloves though - never. Gremio and he were mere travelers; an illusion which the fiendish looking claw rune on his right hand would call into question. Few outside the upper echelon of the Toran republic would recognize it for what it was but the risk was still there.

Years of secrets had taught Tir to never take risks.

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

Gremio was not outside or at the door. He was not in the tiny kitchen where Tir left the bag. It was disconcerting and the only surviving McDohl had his glove off on instinct. It had been years since he carried a staff. Over a decade since he carried any other rune. Soul Eater did not mesh well with other runes and was enough.

He steeled himself and slipped into the next room silently.

The glove was on as quick as he had taken it off. Two pairs of eyes, one startled blue above a scar and the other judging green. Gremio made a show of rising from the table and pointed at their guest, announcing him. With his cane. Their brown haired guest looked confused at the tool before meeting Tir's eyes with understanding. One only those like them could share. A knowledge of how things age and yet others stay the same.

"McDohl."

Tir sank into the seat Gremio had vacated with a sigh.

"Just Tir. Lord McDohl died years ago Luc."

Luc shrugged and Tir was hardly surprised. The apprentice of Leknaat never cared about titles, about matters of men and politics. If he did he hid it well all those years ago during the war. Even when training under the same master the other had barely spoken to Tir save out of necessity. Occasionally not even then if a letter would suffice.

"You haven't changed I see."

Luc rolled his eyes.

"Don't be daft. Our kind do not 'change'."

Clearly not. Luc had lost none of his smug disdain. Only the superficial had undergone any transformation. A mere change of attire from his customary robes to a long coat. Clothes. Nothing more. His eyes were still sharp as ever when the bearer of Wind looked pointedly at Gremio then the door. Tir's servant took the clue and left though they all knew he would not be far.

Luc watched the door till it closed before looking to Tir.

"I may require your assistance."

He must have pulled a face for Luc's contempt softened, a momentary slip, as the other broke their eye contact to peer instead at a wall.

"I mean...I need your help."

Tir knew he looked shocked. How could he not? Luc, the king of haughty glances and disdain, asking for a favor? Such a thing was unheard of. It put Tir immediately on guard.

"What could you possibly need me for Luc? Between your power and the Sser...it doesn't involve Toran does it?"

"No, Toran is uninvolved. As for Leknaat. . . she and I have parted ways."

Parted ways?

The sorceress and her apprentice were no longer one and the same?

Tir stewed over this news while staring at the other. Luc, for his credit, retained a strong face though he would not meet his once-Lord's eyes. Not once in all his time at the tower had Tir heard the two argue. Luc complaining, yes, yet never had they truly argued. Leknaat's seemingly endless wisdom made such an act difficult. Truly arguing with one who radiated patience and grace was near impossible. McDohl remembered all too well her aura.

"What caused you to leave her?"

It was obviously that way. Leknaat would never cast away an apprentice of her own violation.

"She disagrees with what must be done."

"Leknaat? Really? She always seemed to know-"

Luc sharply shook his head.

"She doesn't. The Seeress only listens to her damnable prophecies handed down from the Shield. She is as much a tool as the rest of us. A masterful one, but a tool none the less to the True Runes will."

The True Runes. . . Will? The idea was not unfamiliar to the once-rebel but he had never paid it much mind. Leknaat spoke little of it too him. Said the knowledge was not appropriate for the bearer of Soul Eater, something he never truly understood either.

As if sensing his confusion behind the unreadable stare, Luc continued.

"You must feel it you know. A purpose. A mission. These things," he waved his right hand in a gesture few could empathize, "are not merely tools. People merely choose to think of them as such. Not even just True, all runes have a purpose. A hand in fate-"

"And what do you expect me to do?"

The question startled Luc into stopping. Tir repeated it, louder this time, before leaning back in his chair.

"You tell me all of this Luc but why should I care? Don't get me wrong, it is fascinating, but I am just a traveler now. This time next year I could be a farmer, in five a merchant, I am no one of conseque-"

Luc slammed a fist on the edge of his seat on frustration. A show of anger. The first flash of something fitting the even older immortal's youthful body. Such an act, not so long ago, would have made Tir smile. He rarely did so anymore.

"You're wrong McDohl."

Was he. . . Angry?

"You're wrong, fool." the repeat came with more venomous intensity. A strength behind it that Tir was unaccustomed to from the normally apathetic brunette. Instinctually left hand slid over to rest upon the back of his right, on the glove beneath which Soul Eater lay. His weapon, his tool, and as Luc now claimed, a maker of destiny. It should have been hard to imagine but it wasn't. After such a very long time with the cursed rune he was inclined to believe.

The slight movement was enough to cowl the wind sorcerer. Intentional show of intimidation or not, Luc would not risk it. The discrepancy in strength of their 'blessings' was not so much a river as a chasm. His years of training would help bridge the gap but it remained. Wind simply could not stop Death, that which the McDohl chained to his right hand. It was infuriating but a fact just meeting with the hermit True Rune bearer was a risk. The petite brunette settled back into his chair, boot heels scraping the ground, and calmed before continuing.

"I could free the world of its chains with your help McDohl."

"...Why do you need me?"

The two made eye contact, Luc weighing his words and Tir appearing interested yet utterly unconvinced.

And out in the hall, ear pressed to the door, Gremio struggled to hear the words that came from Luc's mouth next.

"...I need your power to kill that which can not be killed."

One of Silhouette's cold drafts seemed to descend on the house a if the world itself rejected Luc's words. The temperature seemed to fall in the house as Gremio listened.

"I need your Soul Eater to kill my Wind."

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

They talked for three hours. Well, Luc anyway. Tir simply sat in his chair and listened, occasionally asking questions at the start then less and less as time went on. Near the end he was completely silent. It was the most he had ever heard the other speak. Far more than he had ever heard without a single insult in it. Luc was nether smug nor condescending, his voice that of one simply stating facts of the future as if they had already happened. He spoke of a history he would make.

And to the snarky wind user's credit he was completely honest.

Luc spoke of his plans in detail. Of Harmonia, a place Tir had heard of but never seen. He went into great details as to his plans to use the country. To use Zexen and the Grasslands ongoing conflicts to his advantage. Tir was informed of the the other True Elemental and those that lay dormant in the lands of the North. Of whom their bearer had been. The legend of the Flame Champion was in particular fascinating and Tir listened closely at that. Twice Gremio shuffled in with his cane and brought them tea, then dinner, and Tir took of it while Luc touched neither. Not particularly surprising to either member of the household as the wind sorcerer rarely seemed to eat. Luc would only stop talking while Gremio was in the room then would start again once the servant left. His plan was long, involved, and as Tir listened, more and more sound. The McDohl scion had never been trained as a strategist but he could find no error in it from his limited experience. The plan his fellow Bearer had crafted was an intricate web yet entirely possible. Or perhaps it was better to think the Silverburg he employed. Tir knew only too well how valuable that ones skills would be to Luc.

And when he finished, falling silent, Tir was filled with revulsion.

"Disgusting."

His voice nearly shook with the rage.

A war. For hours Luc had regaled him with plans for war, death, and betrayal with seemingly no care. It could have been a talk of weather. This, above all else, disgusted him so that when Luc opened his mouth to speak again, Tir ripped the glove from his hand and pointed at the other.

Soul Eater shown greedily in the declining window light.

Luc's mouth closed as if a spell had been cast upon him. The deceptively youthful man took on complete stillness, not a finger twitching. Only his eyes refused to be turned to stone as they went from Soul Eater to Tir's face, then the exits. There was no escape. He could only wait.

And by the way Tir's eyes burned and the set of his jaw the wait may not be long.

"I thought better of you."

It was spoken like a curse.

"I thought you were...I don't even know anymore. Sane perhaps? To think one like you fought at my side so often. It is unsettling."

Luc looked affronted, he wished to snap an insult, that McDohl himself was hardly a pacifist, but held it in.

Tir continued, "Your plan is vile Luc. War. You want to start a War. Have you forgotten the Gate Rune Wars Luc? The war between Jowston and Highland? I know you were involved in that on Leknaat's behalf as well. Were you like this then too? Did you care so little for the lives of others?"

Soul Eater glimmered, fueled by its wielders rage, gleeful.

And yet Tir lowered it and sank back into his chair with a deep sigh. Though he was no longer in danger Luc held still and did nothing to further anger his once-Lord and fellow apprentice.

"I thought you would understand."

Luc spoke quietly with a calm in his voice, deceptive.

Tir would have none of it as he cast his gaze sharply away.

"How could I understand Luc? You call for death and destruction with some idea to save the world. You ask me to War. Again. Knowing how I feel cf it. Over True Runes at that. How did you think I would ever be able to accept this repeat of history?"

And if it had not been a danger to his health Luc may have smiled. It was the moment to lay down his hand in true, to play his ultimate card. His fingers steepled together as Luc regained his countenance.

"I need your help, not your acceptance. I can help you get what you want just as you can help me Tir."

It did not go quite as planned. Rather than perk in interest Tir just sighed and rose. He would not look at the other but did not turn his back. Once Luc had been a friend of sorts; now Tir could scarcely view him as more than a demon the likes of Yuber, a foul being the wind user now associated with. Further revulsion strained Tir's voice as he gestured to the door loosely.

"Get out Luc. Just leave. If you stay I'd be forced to kill you before my conscious eats me alive."

Luc did not move. Instead he said the most important phrase he yet. His voice leaked the acidic supremacy that could never be all the way hidden.

"You haven't found him yet have you McDohl? That boy, what was his name, Ted?"

Luc was a sorcerer, not a warrior, and so he had no guard against the hand that caught his scrawny neck and sent the chair tumbling over with them both. McDohl had always been fast and time seemed to only make it more pronounced. He did not need a rune to kill, the hands crushing down on Luc's throat. It was not enough force to be deadly but the sorcerer had no way of knowing that. He struggled, slapping at the heavier 'teen' on top of him with all the force he could muster. Panic kept him from using his rune as his focus fell to pieces under the knee pressing into his stomach. Tir's voice and the clear murderous intent in it rang true still.

"Don't ever mention him, you devil. You defile his memo..."

Tir stopped, both speaking and onslaught, as he caught himself. Memory! No, not a memory, lost, not gone or dead, simply lost...

It gave the other a chance to wiggle his throat free.

"I-I can get him b-back for you!"

"No, you can't! Leknaat said she could not preform that miracle again!"

His grip still loosened. More sitting on Luc now than actively attempting to murder him, Tir looked lost. Sometimes it was hard to tell what world the McDohl actually existed in. This was one of those times. His eyes may have looked towards his near victim but they appeared far away. The focus for which he had once been known seemed so distant that, in this instance and for the first ever, Luc actually feared for his life. No, not just his life, he feared for his very soul should he be violently killed in such close proximity to the Soul Eater. Though the rune may not have been active he could feel it pressing into his neck. Hunger. Despair. Solitude. If those feelings could be made manifest physically then in this moment Luc came to know them intimately. Should he die here the rune would surely devour him.

And so he chose his next words carefully.

"She was wrong! Her way may not work but there are others!"

Any thoughts of blasting the other away and escaping were soundly dismissed by the look turned upon him. The Tir he had spoken with for hours had been calm, almost overly so, and this person was most certainly not. This being looked at Luc like a troublesome insect whom he could squash at any time. At this proximity he could.

"I can get him a body, you need only find his soul."

"...I can't find it. Too many others."

Luc was not sure what 'others' meant exactly though he had a terrible impression from the word. How many ghosts had McDohl interacted with? From the understanding the trained sorcerer had of Soul Eater the number had to be...

He pushed that line of thought aside quickly.

"I know people who can help you. There is a bearer in the north, the Blue Moon. I met her..."

The look Tir gave him then made Luc hurry his words up greatly.

"She can find him. She can find any lost soul."

Quite literally 'lost souls' considering how she herself was one. Luc left the part about this bearer being a vampire carefully out of his explanation. That could come later when the other did not look ready to resume murder at the slightest provocation. Where was his servant? Surely the other had to hear them? Why had he not burst in and stopped his master ye-

It occurred to Luc that knowing Gremio the other was probably digging a hole somewhere to hide the body. Had twenty years really changed two people this much? Having been born with his true rune and immortality, Luc could scarcely understand how mortals managed to change in a mere breath of time.

"...can she really?"

A wisp of a voice. A flicker of reason.

"She can."

It worked. Luc could breath again - end he did, urgently - as Tir pulled hands - and that cursed rune! - from his throat. The other even helped him stand as reality slipped in the once-Lord's face again. Had he not needed the other so Luc would have surely fled, as far as he could go, as quickly as he could. Yet he stayed and faced the other resolutely. Tir turned away first and stated at the window, at the village he had come to call 'home' beyond, and spoke with resignation.

"You won't show me to her unless I help you?"

Luc took a precautionary step back, "Correct."

McDohl sighed, age seeping in, as he turned back.

"I will not kill anyone for you."

"You won't have to. Albert has Yuber for that."

"I also will not work with that demon."

After the display of sheer insanity a moment before, Luc felt McDohl was possible less stable than the other. At least Yuber was predictable for the most part. It also helped that Yuber could not kill with a pointed finger and a word. He carefully restrained from saying that and instead settled on a neutral, "I can't promise that." In honesty not even Luc wanted to work alongside the being that had nearly killed him on more than one occasion. There was no guarantee either of them could avoid it. Their goal was too great to let such things intervene.

"...I'll help." A pause. A whisper. "For Ted."

Any questions Luc had about why Tir sought the other so were answered by that whisper. He had suspected, even asked Leknaat once, and she had revealed nothing but cryptic philosophy none but she understood. Yet now he did and he felt nothing for using that information to force the other into aiding him. He and Tir were closer than most, both being immortal, but they were not friends. They never would be.

"Luc. . . try and keep the death toll low."

He was looking at the still-revealed Soul Eater. Luc understood why, as best he could. True Wind might have been another of the True Runes but elemental were fundamentally different from those which ruled over abstract concepts. Intellectually though he knew the worst plae for a bearer of Soul Eater to be was a war...and yet he was dragging him back regardless.

"Meet in a week at the Grasslands-Highland border. I'll send Sarah."

It wasn't the promise Tir wanted but Luc could not do that either. Instead he ducked his head to avoid the other's eyes and fled. Gremio was not at the door (or digging that hole) but stood in the tiny kitchen as Luc passed. Neither said goodbye - one too good to talk and the other too troubled by what he had eavesdropped on.

"Young Master. . ."

Gremio's voice was alone in the quiet home they would soon leave.

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><p><strong>x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x<strong>

_**AN: **And that is the first chapter of that! Forgive the jarring nature of this first chapter. I've never been too hot at beginnings. I also realize Tir consented a little too fast but hey - I needed him to!_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN : **Okay;_ I kind of lied people. No flashback this chapter. Did not have time to write it. Think I will just segue them into the story as needed. Also as I said before viewpoint jumping will happen a lot. Think I will keep the format of three viewpoints a chapter. (Though more will happen in future chapters, ha-ha.) Anyway; enjoy reading. I'm trying out various styles._

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

**CHAPTER 2 **: The Knight, Witch, and Spirit

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><p>For a Knight of Zexen there was often no such thing as a 'day off'. This was especially true of the elite knights beneath Captain Galahad of Brass Castle. Nearly every lax day found Salome, Pelize, and Lady Chris in the Captain's study planning something or other. No one really knew where the elf Roland would slip off to. Rumor had it he napped on the castle roof and no one wanted to check. Leo would have taken the occasion to drink if knights on duty were allowed to. In lieu of that Leo would find Boris and force him to train with the boisterous giant. Boris, in turn, would try and make Percival tag along. It was rarely effective. More often than not the talented knight would pass, claiming he could not hone his skills on such easy prey, and instead flit about the castle-town doing whatever struck his peculiar fancies. Today was just such a day. Percival had narrowly avoided the invitation to train, dodged both Boris and Leo, and set himself free upon a different type of prey.<p>

Today the morsel he had selected looked particularly appetizing.

The prize was a thin woman of noble bearing who sat upon a bench in town. Everything about her spoke of exotic delights from her white hair and pale skin to the clothes she wore. White hair, unless you were the famous Chris Lightfellow, was something of a rarity in Zexen. Pale skin was much the same and this fair lady appeared to have never known a tan. It was her attire which caught Percival's eye first though. It was a style he often saw upon the wives of Highland dignitaries in Vinay del Zexay. A long dress, lightly colored in blues, with a sun bonnet to ward off the Grassland sun. The Gale Knight was not known for keeping up with politics but a diplomat in the town would have caught his ear. Her husband must have not been with her. Perhaps he was far away, back in Highland, and his abused wife fled him. No, impossible, no man could abuse a woman of such cold radiance. Perhaps she was a widow vacationing north to escape the chill grip of the departed which hung about her home? Far more likely. Such women were a territory he knew. As he approached her Percival subtly adjusted his armor to shine brighter, be more attention grabbing, and shifted his sword further back. Such woman knew chivalry but often abhorred violence. Percival was a master of his art and swept a hand through his hair, straightening it, as he stood before her. She did not even look up. Up close she was even more beautiful and his confidence wavered, only a second or two, before he cleared his throat and caught her attention.

Percival's myths of her changed again as the woman lazily tilted her head back to regard him. Though she may have squinted in the sun he could see deep blue eyes, which he had expected, and that her bangs were cut short. A boyish cut really, something few true Highland noblewomen would have worn, but quite suited to her features. No, no, this was no regular lady of the kingdom. This vision had surely come from something greater. Perhaps she was a woman of religious significance who had escaped the cage of her chaste nunnery. Yes, that must be it, she had fled into Zexen seeking asylum and with Vinay del Zexay so close had settled for a respite in her journey. It was surely only just that Percival throw himself to her feet and proclaim himself her protector, her knight, one who would see her true to safety and the end of her vows. He thought all this but before her eyes the Gale Knight could only sink to the bench, body turned to face her, and wait for her to speak. His words had been stolen by beauty beyond his understanding.

Her voice fell slowly, softly, like the snow she so reminded him of.

". . .You can see me?"

It was with her words that Percival recovered some of his charm and smiled warmly. She returned one less vigorous.

"Milady, it is a sin for any man with eyes not to see you. I worried my eyes had deceived me when I saw you alone!"

She giggled behind a hand clothed in lacy white. That was as good as an 'all's clear' for him to press on.

"Tell me though Lady; what are you doing here alone? Shouldn't you be accompanied by maids and knights?"

Another giggle into her hand was a gift, yet not what he wished, as she had yet to fully meet his eyes.

"Worry not Mr. Knight. My maid just slept in and I could not resist a little adventure." Percival's mental history immediately shifted from mere escapist chaste nun to wild, untamed yet-possibly-still-chaste nun. "This castle, Brass they call it correct?" He nodded. "It is quite different from most I've been to, less guarded. Quite unlike the castle in Northwindow or Rockaxe. In fact, I believe that cute Matilda knight would call it. . ." She paused, her face scrunched up in frustration as she tried to remember. To Percival, whom normally disliked such faces, it was for some reason the cutest thing he had ever seen. Especially as she raised a finger with a quiet, "Ah." He was enraptured. "Ah, yes, I recall now. 'Miki' would have called it a 'pincer-attack' waiting to happen, no? He would have hated having a gate on both sides. I hear that did not work out too well for Two-Rivers. . ." Percival's rapt attentions faded only an inch as he realized what she was talking about.

"Milady that will not be a problem here in Brass Castle. With Vinay del Zexay at our back there is no direction for an attack to come from but forward, from the Grasslands. You should have no reason for worry." With the current peace between the Grasslands and Zexen, she really didn't, but Percival left that out. A hint of danger would only help his cause, no?

"Oh, I'm not worried. No one in this nation is really a danger to me."

Or perhaps she would not need the reassurances.

Balked by her utmost confidence Percival committed a failure he would only expect of someone like Boris - he stammered. "Well perhaps if my lady needs extra security I could see to her protection-"

She laughed like the first breeze of spring and struck him dumb. "No need fair knight. I can see to myself well enough until I find that husband of mine. Then I will see to him too."

Husband. She had a husband. No nun. Perhaps a duelist of great renown-

"Oh no, I have no need of anything like a sword."

"Of course not Milady- Wait, how did you?"

Too late Percival noted that the woman faced him fully. When it happened he was not sure. Just like he was not positive when she threw her arms back over the seat and curled legs beneath her. The ice princess had quite suddenly, with only a shift in her dress, begun to resemble more a lamia ready to snack on her prey. A thought she seemed to find most pleasing as her smile finally spread, revealing two sharp incisors, and her eyes narrowed. Percival could not for the life of him look away. He dared not, he wished for nothing more in that instant than to keep his eyes carefully glued to those blue orbs. She never blinked, neither did he, and as she spoke the words washed over him like a tidal wave.

"I am not a nun, though I could be called a noble lady. Nor do I need your protection fair knight. Though I did find your compliments most pleasing - even if they were halfhearted."

Halfhearted?

"Very. You see sir knight, you would attempt to ravish me if your surface thoughts are of any note." She giggled again and suddenly, Percival did not find it as cute. In fact his attraction to her seemed to be in solid retreat though he could not look away. "Yes, you are not interested any more because I released you." his mind seemed to ask a question without his mouth. She shrugged, quite unladylike. "I doubt you would understand it even if I explained. At any rate mister knight allow me to tell you about yourself."

Percival knew himself quite well.

This woman apparently disagreed. "No sir, I'm afraid you do not. You see if you did then you would not be here with me. This act would have ended long ago." Act? He didn't understand and the sudden ache in his skull was not helping. The woman's gaze appeared to cut his thoughts like a knife as she swept a bit of pale hair over one shoulder and sighed. "Men sure of themselves are so thick skulled, especially so young. You remind me somewhat of my Nashy save the part where you are in love with a man."

Percival's thoughts hit an abrupt and violent halt at that.

"Oh, don't be so shocked dear. You'd be surprised at how many men are out there like you. Yes, yes, you bed a woman or two here and there. How special. I can see clear as day you'd rather be with that blonde boy though. My, he is quite the cutey. Reminds me of dear Miki. You would probably like Miki too but Cammy already claimed that one."

He had absolutely no idea who she was going on about but between the desperate, denied need to blink and his resistance of her words, he did not particularly care. Why had he approached this witch?

Her smile slipped, "How rude, calling me a witch when I am just trying to help you! Perhaps I should give you a spanking little boy..."

Percival's level of discomfort increased twenty fold.

"Oh calm down. I'm just playing. Here, let me help you out a bit." He didn't want her help. He knew he didn't. Yet when she leaned those piercing eyes closer he followed suit till their noses bumped. Her pale nose fit neatly beside his, their proximity so close they could have been kissing. At such close range Percival could see his shallow breath brush her hair. Yet he felt nothing from this woman, no rush of air which would indicate she drew a single breath.

"Don't worry about that Percy."

He had never told her his name.

She smiled, "Don't worry about that either. Instead focus on what is important. Tonight you are going to go, find that cute little blonde knight, and confess to him. Confess everything. Be sure to tell him about those little fantasies you have while he is training, those are fantastic." the word 'fantastic' forced a roll of distress through his body. Those were just passing thoughts! He pushed them aside! So what if Borus looked so red and breathless after a good spar between them . . . Wait, no!

"Yes cutey. Very yes."

He hated her. The first woman Percival had truly hated.

And all she did in the face of his hate was give that breathless, deridingly creepy chuckle and nuzzle his nose tenderly. It reminded him of what his mother did when Percival was but a child. He suspected this 'woman' knew that as well as he did. She seemed to take great delight in ruining the things he told no one about.

"Oh, don't fear cutie, you won't remember any of this."

What!

"The moment I blink you will get up and walk away. You will go to a store and buy that boy something nice then head back to the castle. You will forget that we spoke and remember only that I turned you down. That I am a proud married woman who inspired you to find your true love."

No, he would not do any of tha-

The white woman blinked.

Percival rose from the bench and adjusted his armor after his short sit. He did not tell her bye. The woman was not even looking at him, her gaze back on the street before them. Without even a nod the brunette, cavalier knight set about his way. He had a gift to buy, something Borus would like. Perhaps a new scabbard for his sword? One befitting his title of 'Flame Knight' to oppose Percival's own gale? Fire and Wind, they went so well. Perhaps he would get himself one as well to show off the matching dynamic. These were the thoughts at the forefront of the knight's mind as he walked with purpose from the bench where Sierra, Bearer of the Blue Moon, watched him with a pleasant smile.

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

Sierra Mckain seemed quite pleased with herself as she returned to the hotel. Not even the overly-bright afternoon sun bothered her much anymore. (That could have been due to the bonnet pulled low enough to hide half her face though.) She had done yet another good deed, righted another wrong, and her karma had improved ever so slightly once more. Granted Nashy would not be pleased with her if he found out, he so hated her to 'interfere' in other people's lives. Her husband never had to find out though. In fact, why should he? The missing spy would be too busy celebrating his return to her for worrying over such things. They had been apart so awfully long this time. If he had not ran off she would not have had to make excuses to search him out.

Which also meant she would not be traveling with her 'maids'?

"Mistress Mckain! Futch, I found her!"

Oh drat. They located her.

Sierra stopped - abruptly in the middle of the road making several go around her - until the blonde monster burst free of the crowd. Sharon was out of breath which was a regular state for the girl. When she did recover though her eyes hit the vampire in full on adoration mode. How the girl's strange respect started no one really knew. Not even Sierra and she prided herself on knowing everything. Unfortunately for the girl Sierra had very little concern for women, even adoring fan girls, and ignored her in favor of Sharon's guardian who soon joined them.

Oh yes, Sierra could quite concern herself with a young man like Futch.

...save the part where she was a proud married woman and all.

"Dragon Knight." Sierra even gave a little curtsy in her fancy dress.

Futch did not return any such gesture. Oh dear, Futchy was in a serious mood. Sierra sighed and began to twirl a bit of hair as he started, "Mistress Mckain, you can't just wander off without telling me. What if you were seen?"

Cute but not much for brains.

"Cutie, these people can't see me. My essence is wrapped up tighter than. . . Well." She cast a look aside with a mock blush. Sharon laughed but the tall brunette was stone faced, especially as Sierra shrugged, "As far as these people can tell you two might as well be talking to yourselves."

It was true. The townspeople and occasional knight passing by, even those walking directly around the vampire, stared at Futch and Sharon. They could technically see the vampire but yet not really see her. To the people around them she was like a vision at the corner of your eye, a ghost of an image, not quite invisible but too inconsequential to really care about. Regular people gave off presence and the coven mistress had long since learned to suppress her's entirely. She was a ghost in the crowd. Most she allowed the privilege of viewing her, like Futch and Sharon. Others trained it as a skill such as the vampire hunter Kahn had. Occasionally though there were those special enough to detect her regardless, without effort or even trying, but those were rare. Such meetings were always a pleasure. Her husband had been one of them, much to her delight. So had the young leader of the resistance in Duran. Riou had spotted her immediately. Cute little Percy should be grateful he was one of them too considering how she helped him so.

When Futch led them out of the road and demanded explanation she neatly left her good deeds out of the day's adventure. It had been a day of walking about and viewing the sights. No one had seen her, she lied, and no one knew about her, which was technically still true. Sierra told her story in exquisite, infuriating detail. By the end Sharon had wandered off somewhere and Futch pinched the bridge of his nose tight enough to bruise. A shame really, he had such a handsome face these days.

"I can't protect you if you wander off."

Futch sounded exasperated. Probably tired still. Sierra had been dragging the two dragon knights across the entire Grasslands for a month now.

Still, "Cutie, who's protecting who? I do seem to recall saving you from a certain iron golem a week ago..."

Oops, not supposed to talk about that one.

"You used your rune to do it too!" He dragged a hand across his face. "We can't have you doing that. It attracts too much attention! Lu...He," Sierra arched a fine white brow at the slip but said nothing. Not to say she wasn't curious but that road had never taken her anywhere. ", could find you that way. The Lady of the Tower warned us of that." He turned away as if some point had been made at that, as if their 'talk' had ended. The very notion that she needed a 'talking to', in the same tone he used with Sharon, did not sit well with the coven mistress. She was no child. She was eternal. The farce of her needing protection had worn on her nerves before but she allowed them humored. These humans had grown too comfortable in security of their place next to her. This insult was not one she, as coven mistress, could abide.

"Dragon Knight."

A simply statement that made Futch turn. His gaze was her's instantly. This was not like Percival, whom Sierra held in place with enchanted glamour. Sheer force of her great will is what trapped the brunette in place. The vampire did not advance, nor attack, but her voice struck like a whip in its own way, "There was no 'us' at this warning. You and the girl alone perhaps but not I. My way would be just as clear without your protection the Seer of Stars sought to get me." Futch tried to say something, perhaps yet another comment on the strength of her opponent, but a closing of her hand silenced that. "I believe you have forgotten what it is you guard. The bearer of True Wind - Luc correct? - is thousands of years too young to be a threat to me. Let him come. I've dealt with worse threats than a mere boy." And it was true, Sierra felt no threat from the rogue apprentice. She was still not even sure what caused the boy to consider her a target. The troublesome Seer had not thought to provide explanation with the escort - at least not if Futch was honest. Considering the number of times she glamoured both he and Sharon - they likely really did not know.

This was infuriating in its own way.

A sigh as she swept past the frozen Futch, freeing him as their eye contact broke. The stern male almost tripped when his limbs worked again. By the time he got around to following her, Sierra had already put quite a distance between them. In a moment of sense he said nothing, though she knew he wished to, and simply followed.

Both had forgotten Sharon. . .yet again. Not the first time.

She would show up some time or other.

**x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x**

In a world composed entirely of darkness those with eyes are at a disadvantage. They do not know how to 'see', to 'sense', and so their attempts are feeble and wasteful. In the darkened dimension of Soul Eater one could be lost forever; fated to wander till your identity slips away. How long does it take? It depends on the durability of the soul and how the individual died. How their soul was captured by the True Rune. Those who lost their lives in violent conflict only to be dragged in; they never last long. The corrosion of their identity starts immediately. Others, who more gently embraced the tug, can orient themselves. Yet the fate of no one is as stable as one whom offered himself to the Soul Eater and actually had the rune accept. Only one person had ever done so. Perhaps only one person ever could.

Ted was the first person to control a rune without bearing it.

Now he uses that same power to avoid the current bearer.

His senses do not Work in the same way as most. Ted is not aware of what happens in the outside world. As a spirit of the rune he neither sees nor hears through Tir. There is no way for him to see Germio directing the Harmonian servants in care of the 'bishop's guest'. He knows it is happening though. Distantly; Ted is pleased that the servant is alive again. That he was brought back. Some souls inside the rune begrudge the kindly servant his freedom but Ted is not among them. He could have never been freed in such a way after offering himself; not even Leknaat's power could afford such escape. It would take something greater.

Something Tir is searching for much to Ted's regret.

The other searches for him. He has since the day Ted offered himself. At first it was a rare occasion, a questioning presence across the world of darkness. A sense he was being sought. Yet despite sensing it, Ted avoided that desire, hoping instead that the other would give up and move on. That he would understand the immortal teenager's end. Yet Tir clearly did not. He sought and sought, more insistent, more time spent in the rune. Instead of growing weaker it grew stronger and hiding was a taxing process. It could be done though through the aid of the rune itself. Unlike Tir, who had it only a breath of time, Ted had borne the true rune for hundreds of years. None were more versed in the runes abilities than he.

None could know the rune's essence as he did.

Soul Eater is a powerful tool - there is no denying that. Yet Ted, through his years, knew it better than most. He knew the rune as a being, an essence, a hazy creation at the edge of his consciousness which imposes upon him its will. Ted knows, unlike poor McDohl, that the rune craves conflict. It hungers. There is no way to stay peacefully to the side while bearing the curse of Soul Eater or it will cause misfortune. It attracts death to those around the bearer. It was not Ted's will that he be dragged into conflict after conflict since receiving the rune. The boy remembers it influencing him. How it would give him dreams of killing those around him occasionally, how it would demanded to be fed. He remembers the temptation to kill the young islander, Lazlo, bearer of Punishment, so that it could feast on his strong will. It struck like a dull ache at the base of his brain. He remembers Aldo, the archer from the islands, whom... Ted does not want to remember Aldo. He does not want to face the realization that the man does not exist anymore, that his consciousness had eroded and vanished into the Soul Eater. There are many things Ted never wanted to face about the time on his hand.

Now he mostly does not wish to face its new bearer.

_Tir, do not seek me._  
><em>Please stop it.<em>  
><em>Let me fade away.<em>  
><em>Let me vanish.<em>

Yet Tir doesn't let him fade. He never stops seeking and so Ted can never stop hiding. Resisting his urge to respond. To call out to Tir when the once-hero dives far too deep into Soul Eater. It is a struggle to keep the seeker from finding his hidden asylum. A challenge to exert subtle influence so the other does not drown himself in the darkness of Ted's new home. There are limits to how far he can dive but the other does not realize it. He does not recognize that he is a body with a soul, not just an essence, and so he is rejecting himself by attempting the search.

He fears for his allies' health.  
>He fears for his friend's sanity.<br>Ted fears for Tir's soul.

The bound spirit does not know exactly what is happening in the forgotten 'out there'. His strong will does not recognize the changes in the world, the politics and the scheming. He does not recognize the subtle changes that are distinctly Harmonian; only knowing that Tir moved again. The only thing he truly knows is the rune has begun to feast again. That it is drawing in souls once more. Not yet major, a thin trickle of spirits, of new arrival to the blackened landscape.

Yet Ted knows.

People are dying around Tir and feeding the rune once more.

This recognition is the great curse of his strong will.

* * *

><p><strong>x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x<strong>

**AN : **Don't_ hate me for the minimal action in Chapter 2! Setting up, prrromiisee. More Tir next time! And longer!_


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